


Blood Rains Upon Monsters

by justanotheraveragewriter



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore, Twenty-One Pilots - Fandom
Genre: Abuse (alcohol; drug; emotional; mental; physical), Also it proves that you've read the tags, Angst (Heavy), Anorexia, Bulimia, Bullies (Bully!Gabe; Bully!Pete; Bully!OC's), Bullying (Bullied!Patrick), Cause im real lazy, Cobra Starships - Freeform, Drugs, Eating Disorders, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Find the hidden song lyric in chapters after 1&2, Flashbacks, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, I also only update once a month, Kidnapping, Lyrics are from songs played/created by the artist and bands stated, M/M, Multi, Needles, Panic! at the Disco - Freeform, Paramore - Freeform, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Song Lyric Challange, Suicide Attempt, The Academy Is... - Freeform, Torture, Violence, fall out boy - Freeform, just a fun little thing for you guys, my chemical romance - Freeform, potential smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:30:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8511799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotheraveragewriter/pseuds/justanotheraveragewriter
Summary: Imagine a person without morals. Nothing. They were indifferent to suffering and pain. They only lived to do what was told of them.No personality. No characteristics. Just the need to obey whatever was commanded of them...Twelve teenagers with ages ranging from 15-17 are kidnapped. Police have no evidence or clues to help them. Nobody has any leads. It was just as though the kids vanished off of the Earth...Except that they hadn't. They were being held in a facility against their will. Trapped.And they were slowly losing their humanity...





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> First ever story. Hope you enjoy it! I will be updating at least once a month if all goes well.

Patrick rubbed his eyes. A yawn escaped from his lips as he tried to refocus on the teachers rant about the laws of physics. It was last period-thank god-and he was more than done with the day. He felt something wet hit the back of his head. Groaning inwardly, he pulled away a wet glob of paper. He didn't even have to look to know who did it. Flicking the spit ball away, he pushed down his hat. The clock read 2:45pm and Patrick swore that the time hadn't changed from his last glance. 

Another glob hit him. This time he scowled but ignored it. That was his only way of defeating them. Like Newtons Law almost-every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Well, the glob hitting him was the action. Patrick getting pissed and yelling was the opposite reaction, and then proceeding to get the shit knocked out of him was the equal. 

But doing nothing was better. Not by much, but maybe instead of a black eye, he'd only have a bruised arm. Much easier to hide. Still it was more than difficult to control himself. Especially when another spit ball hit him. Gritting his teeth, he silently counted to ten and back; wishing that time would hurry the fuck up. 

“Psst, Pattycakes! You got a lil something-something on your cheek,” he whispered. His voice was smug and Patrick knew there was a smirk on their faces. 

He counted to twenty and back, but he could feel himself blushing. Why did he blush so easily?! Fuck his cheeks! 

“Hey, are you ignoring us?” he spoke again. He sounded annoyed and Patrick took satisfaction from that. Let the fucker be annoyed. Hopefully, he'll raise his voice and get in trouble from the teacher and then Patrick won't have to ever put up with his shit again- 

His fantasy's were destroyed with the bell signalled the end of the day. Scuttling to the door as a lizard may scuttle from prey; Patrick hurried to get home. It was Friday and he'd rather not spend his weekend trying to hide whatever marks they might leave. 

Left and right people rushed. It was more than difficult getting through the crowd, as Patrick was going against the flow. He had found a short hidden route that took him to the back of his house. However, that meant going out to the sports field, which meant gong in the opposite direction of almost everyone else. 

He neared the end of the hallway, and made it outside okay until he rushed into someone with such force that he was knocked down. His books and papers scatter across the grass as they fell from his arms. 

“Leaving so soon?” Gabe said, bending towards Patrick. Patrick scowled at him and tried standing only to be pushed down by Gabe again. 

He landed hard on the floor and could feel a bruise already developing in his elbow. He looked around, but people most people had already left. 

“Go away Gabe,” he muttered and tried standing again. 

As he stood, Gave plucked his glasses off his face and through them to the ground. Patrick squealed and dropped down trying to look for them. Everything was blurry without his glasses. He thought he felt something, when there was a loud snapping sound. 

With dread he realised what happened. Furious he stood and glared at Gabe. “You owe me another pair of glasses!” 

Gabe sneered and pushed Patrick down again. “Y'know, you look even more pathetic without them.” 

“Ah, come on Gabe! Stop hogging all the fun!” a voice called out from behind him. Him. 

Patrick turned to see Pete. Fucking. Wentz and a few of his other lackeys trailing behind him. 

Patrick scrambled to his feet. No way was he going to face Pete-fucking-Wentz on the floor. 

But it was a mistake realised to late as Gave grabbed his arms and twisted them painfully behind him. Patrick let out a hiss of air and tried fighting but stopped when he felt another twist. 

Patrick once again cursed his small size and weak frame. Fuck his shortness. Fuck his pale skin. Fuck that even though he had lost weight he was still as weak as a kitten. Fuck everything. 

Pete came up grinning his shake smile. Small mouth and to many teeth. It looked charming, but held doom. Patrick watched him looks towards the broken glasses. His grin widened somehow. It sickened Patrick. 

“I hope your mommy loves you enough to pay for my glasses, you prick!” Patrick screamed. Pete turned his attention to the smaller boy. He raised his hands and shrugged. 

“This would have never happened if you hadn't of rudely ignored us in physics, Pattycakes,” Pete said sweetly. He still had that awful fucking grin on his face. 

He stepped closer to Patrick. “Fortunately for you, I feel forgiving today! So... How about I send you home with one black eye? How does that sound Patrick?” 

Patrick scowled at Pete's grin. With venom dripping from his voice, he replied; “I don't know... So ... How about you choke on my dick? How does that sound Pete?” 

Pete's grin dropped and Patrick felt joy. Then there was a blur and sudden pain along with the taste of copper in the back of his throat. Patrick felt his neck whiplash back so hard, he was almost sure that his head would fly of his neck. Blood dripped from his nose and he could taste it as it flowed into his mouth. He slouched forward as pain erupted. Pete grabbed his strawberry-blonde hair and lifted his face up. Pure anger had replaced his shit-eating grin. 

“On second thought,” Pete said slowly, glancing quickly at Gabe, “I think you'll look better with a broken nose.” 

He kneed Patrick hard in the stomach and punched his jaw. Gabe let go and he slumped to the floor, curling into a ball. Pete gave a final hard kick into Patrick stomach. The small boy groaned and shut his tear filled eyes. Pete crouched down close to him. 

“I've noticed that you've been getting really ballsey lately Patrick. So, here's what's going to happen.” Pete grabbed Patrick's hat and waved it in front of him. Patrick made a feeble attempt to grab it. 

Pete mockingly help it out of his reach. He looked at the cap and grinned. “You seem really attached to this hat Patrick... I wonder why that is?” Pete spoke in a naturally calm voice; as though he was talking about the weather. 

“No matter. But here's the thing. Pull something like that again, and I'll rip this hat up and make you eat the shreds.” Pete cocked his head to one side. “Understand?” 

Patrick groaned in response. Looking satisfied, Pete threw the hat down the field and left with his gang. He and Gabe shared laughter as Patrick gathered his wits. 

At what felt like hours latter, though was only a few minutes, he pick himself up and gathered his things; wincing at the pain in his stomach. He grabbed his hat and placed it on his head, pulling it down to conceal his tears. He looked at his glasses and with heavy dread, grabbed them and threw them into the trash. His nose had stopped bleeding thankfully, however was still painful to touch. Everything hurt. Patrick rubbed the blood away using them hem of his shirt; making a mental note to wash it once he got home. He thanked what ever luck he had that it was a work night for his mother. She wouldn't see him drag himself home like this. 

Aside from the physical pain, Patrick also felt pain from his mother. Long ago, his father had left them to fight in Afghanistan, and had never returned. Now it was just him and his mother left of the family. Patrick knew how hard his mother worked for him. Everytime he heard her come in late, or saw her sleeping during  the day; he felt guilty. She shouldn't have to work so hard for him. He wished that she didn't. Because of the guilt, he had never told her about the bruises and the taunts. It wasn't her problem, and Patrick was determined as hell to make sure it would never be her problem. 

She had done so much for him and there was no way he was going to reward her with his bullying problems. Besides, it wasn't that bad. 

Just a few bruises. And a few taunts. Maybe some tears, but those always dried. And blood? Well... It wasn't rare but it was easy to deal with. So what if he got bullied? Patrick could take care of himself. Or... That's what he always told his doubting mind. 

 _Yes, the tears may dry, and the bruises may fade... But the scars will always be fresh within your skin._  

As he trudged home slowly, Patrick reflected on the fight. Or... Well... Not-so-much-fight-as-talking-back-and-getting-beaten-up. 

Pete was right about one thing. He was getting ballsey lately. Not cocky-ballsey. More like confident-ballsey. Patrick smiled. Three years of bullying had finally led to him standing up for himself. But the smile faded when he remembered Pete's threat. His hat... That was the only thing left from his dad. Subconsciously, Patrick reached up and touched his hat, pulling down. It was worn out and had cloth tearing in some places... But in his eyes, it was as new as the day his father had given it to him. 

Patrick wiped the blooming tears from his eyes and unlocked his door. As he walked into the kitchen, he saw a note on the bench. He squinted trying to make our the blurry mess before him. 

 _Dear Patrick._  

 _Hello sweetie. I'm working late tonight, in case you forgot. There's leftovers in the fridge if you want them. Or you could order in if you wanted._  

 _Also sweetheart, I noticed you've been looking really down recently. Are you alright? I'm always here if you need to talk._  

 _I promise that I will never be upset with you. You're my boy and no matter what I'll always love you._  

 _Love Mom_  

Patrick read the note, and frowned. How had his mother noticed? Panic spread throughout his chest. Did he let his guard down? Did she know? Was this a trick to get him to talk? 

He shook his head. No way in hell would he drag her into this. She had enough going on in her life and there was no way she needed to worry about him. As he cleaned himself up, he promised himself that he would have to act twice as hard to convince his mother.  

After he had undressed, he noticed that his shirt was practically covered with blood. There was no way he could clean it off. Sighing, he tossed it underneath his bed. He'd have to find a way to get rid of it later. If he tossed it in the trash, his mother would definitely see it. It would even more suspicious if he took the trash out. Patrick resented chores. Groaning, he walked to the bathroom to take a shower.  

“Don't look in the mirror,” he whispered to himself. “Don't look in the mirror. Don't look in the mirror. Don't look in the...fuck.” 

He looked at himself in the mirror. Bruises, purple, yellow and blue littered his pale skin. 

His nose was swollen and there was a large bruise developing on his lower jaw. His stomach had a spreading purple tinge. His arms were spotted with marks big and small. Some hurt, others didn't. His legs were scabbed-especially at the knees. Patrick cursed his school for having stairs. Why couldn't they have elevators or something? Patrick turned away from the mirror disgusted. He hated himself. But what was he to do? Stand up for himself? Been there, done that and ended up bruises and breaks. 

Not like anyone else was going to help him. They were all terrified of Pete and Gabe and the others. Teachers? Yeah right. Might as well be talking to a brick wall. 

Patrick stepped in the shower and adjusted the water to the perfect temperature. He allowed the water to wash away his pain and bad thoughts. He relaxed his sore muscles and imagined the water washing away his bruises. He stepped out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, feeling better then before. He dressed himself in matching pj's (he was a sucker for them) and reheated the leftovers. 

He turned in the television and flicked through the channels before remembering the math homework he had. Really, the ordeal took longer than necessary because of his missing glasses. The words blurred together and it was more challenging reading the questions than answering them. 

He had no idea how to explain to his mother about his glasses. He could say that he lost them. But that was unbelievably generic. Besides, he took better care of his glasses then he did himself. 

He could say that he dropped them somewhere. That might work. He was an okay actor, he could make it believable. Sighing, he tried working out the details of the missing glasses when someone knocked at his door. 

Startled Patrick sat still for a moment before another persistent knock came. Frowning he walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Nobody was there. Feeling confused, Patrick opened his door. He looked around, then saw something on his steps. 

Leaning down, he grasped the object. Upon touch, he quickly realised what it was. 

Patrick put the glasses upon his face. The world became much more clearer the second they settled on his face. It was almost like seeing the world after opening eyes underwater. 

Patrick looked around for the person who had delivered them. But even with the glasses, he couldn't see anyone. Frowning, he went back inside. 

He went to the mirror to check the new glasses. They looked almost identical to his. Same build, colour. They were a little to big, but that was okay. These were better somehow. His glasses were alright, but these felt like high definition. 

Smiling, Patrick felt relief that he wouldn't have to explain about his missing glasses. But he frowned when realised that someone else had bought these for him. 

Who would help him? Not someone in their right mind... Pete or Gabe would literally kill them. 

So who? Patrick tried to think back to the afternoon. Very few had seen the dilemma... There was no one around when Gabe broke his glasses. Did someone see him put his old glasses in the trash? Unlikely. He had taken the hidden route to his house. Nobody was around. 

So who? Who on earth would help Patrick Stumph? The loser who got bullied for literally no reason other than being a punching bag... Patrick shook his head. It would be too cruel to imagine that he actually had a friend. Or someone that wanted to help him. There was no one. Well... His mother was there but he supposed she didn't really count. And she never would. 

Patrick felt a sudden fatigue crawl upon him. He looked at the clock and saw it was only early evening. Shrugging away his tiredness, he turned on the television and skipped through channels. He was watching a game show-really only paying half attention-when suddenly there was a broadcast. 

Frowning, he sat up in his seat. It was seldom that a broadcast should ever appear. 

There was a law official-maybe a police officer or something-on the screen. He was talking about some people who had been disappearing lately. Patrick vaguely remembered the stories that had been floating around school. Teenagers around his age had been vanishing into nothing. The police suspected they were abduction or kidnappings. 

The police officer went to say that the disappearances were now confirmed abductions. He warned people to watch themselves and if they should see anything report it. Pictures of the abducted teens flashed on screen. They were all very pretty or handsome and most were either seventeen or sixteen. 

Patrick watched until the broadcast ended and turned off the TV. 

He felt a little frightened from the broadcast but shoved it from his mind. He was small, covered with bruises and ugly. Who would want to abduct him? Glancing at the clock again, he saw that it was _9:43_. 

Time went fast when you were listening to broadcast, apparently. 

Yawning, he climbed the stairs and collapsed into bed. He prayed that he wouldn't have nightmares tonight. And then he was asleep. 

His prayers weren't answered though. He dreamt he was being chased by a monster; one with really sharp claws. He ran but it followed. Always just a few steps behind. 

He ran faster but it did nothing. The monster caught him and ripped into his chest. It licked globs of blood, muscle and fat all the whole grinning at Patricks screams... 

“Ah!” Patrick woke with a start and flailed his hands, trying to hit the monster. He stopped when he realised he was awake. His bedside clock read _2:09_ in bright red colours. 

His mother wouldn't be home for another hour yet. Patrick suddenly felt alone. He was tired and scared and alone. 

He cried himself back to sleep; his sobs echoing in the empty house. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

Pete evening had not gone well either. After leaving Patrick and walking home with Gabe, he realised how big of a mistake it had been to crush his glasses. 

“Wish you thought of that before you asked me to break them,” Gabe had grimaced. Pete nodded. 

“If he tells his parents, we're fucked.” 

“I know.” 

“Even if he doesn't tell his mom or dad, we're fucked.” 

“I know.” 

“God, if he shows them the bruises, we're fucking-” 

“Gabe? I know.” 

He shrugged. “Just making sure you and I are the same page Pete.” 

The tanned male rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure I know of the consequences. Fuck. I'm dead if my mom finds out.” 

Gabe nodded and hummed in agreement. Then, he suddenly brightened. “Dude! How loaded are you?!” 

Pete raised an eyebrow. “Why?” 

“Answer the question,” the tall male snapped. 

Pete sighed and thought back. “Four thousand. I think... Yeah, about that. Or something. Again, why?” 

Gabe was basically jumping around like a little kid. He clasped his friends shoulders tightly. “Dude, buy him a new pair.” 

Pete frowned. “... Are you high right now?” 

Groaning, he answered: “Dude, think about it! If you buy him a new pair, his parents-” 

“Will never find out...” the black haired male finished. He finally caught onto his friend's plan. “He'll have to owe me... Gabe you're a genius! I can use him to get back at...” 

The other male raised his eyebrow. “At who?” 

Pete shook his head. “Someone who I need to get even with.” 

“And that would be...?” 

“The sonofabitch who is spreading rumors about me.” 

Gabe wrinkled his nose. “Oh... That person.” 

Pete nodded. He glanced at Gabe's watch and saw it was only _3:07_. 

“Okay... Where would I find glasses?” Pete thought aloud. He looked at Gabe, praying his friend would have an answer. 

His prayers were answered. 

“They have an optometrist shop in the mall. I've seen all different glasses displayed there. Think I saw some once that looked like Bitchtrick's.” 

Pete clasped his friend shoulder-though he had to stand in his toes. He and Gabe walked to the mall. He discussed everything that came to his mind on they way there, making Gabe laugh at his witty thoughts. They arrived at the optometrist and spent the next two hours trying to find glasses that matched Patrick's. 

“Their like... Really thick lensed... And um... Black? Yeah Black,” Gabe had tried to explain to a worker. “I think... They have silver on the sides as well... Yeah... Uh, I think they were a little bigger than that.” 

In the end, it came down to one pair of glasses. Gabe had been satisfied with them, claiming they looked like the ones Patrick had. Pete forked over almost two hundred for the glasses. He didn't really care about the money. It was much better than getting caught. It was a simple question. Pay two hundred and get away with it. Or get caught and lose everything? The answer seemed pretty clear to him. By the time they left, it was almost six. Pete and Gabe departed as he went to go find Patrick's home. 

“You know where he lives?” Pete asked, shocked.  

Gabe had tapped his nose and grinned before leaving. “I'll text you after I drop them off.” 

As he watched him leave, Pete reflected that there was still some things he would never know about his friend. Pete felt his phone buzz as he walked home. Sighing after he saw the caller, he answered with a weary: “Hey mom.” 

“Peter! Where are you?!” 

“Uh... Me and the guys were playing basketball.” 

“Do you know what day it is?” 

“...Friday?” 

“Winston is having dinner here tonight!” 

“Oh. Um... I forgot?” 

“Peter, you better got your sorry butt home right now!” 

“Okay mom.” 

“And please no tantrums tonight.” 

Pete winced at the comment. He hung up the call and trudged home. Winston. Fucking Winston. Pete loved his mother with all of his heart. He take a bullet for his mother if he had too. But lately, he found himself turning cold towards her ever since she had started dating again. Pete could not count how many nights they had spent arguing over her love life. It always came down to her happiness. 

Pete hated Winston. The guy was trying to replace his dad, and he was not okay with that. He didn't care whatever his mother said. His dad was coming back and he knew it. Yeah he had left. But he promised Pete he would be back. While his mother cried and slammed the bedroom door, his father had looked at Pete and promised that he would be back. 

That was five years ago. But Pete still believed. His dad had called him once, three years ago, asking how his boy was going. His mother had somehow found out, and ever since Pete had not heard from his father. 

He didn't truly hate her. He knew she was trying to start a better life. But he couldn't accept that she was trying to push his dad out of his life. Pete brooded over bad memories until he reached his door. He put on a brave face and forced himself to smile. 

As he entered he could hear laughter from the living room. He followed the noise and saw his mother and Winston snuggling-fucking hands around each other snuggling-as they giggled about something. Pete cleared his throat and they finally saw him standing in the doorway. 

“Ah! Peter, you're home!” his mother exclaimed, jumping up to cuddle him. He flinched under her touch. 

“Winston was just telling me a delightful story about his trip to the zoo!” 

Winston raised a hand to his lips and giggled. “I'm glad you find me getting bitten by a zebra delightful, Dale.” 

Pete glanced between the two and forced himself not to scowl. 

“I'm... I have some homework that I really need to do. So...” he trailed off, hoping his mother would take the bait. 

She did. 

“Oh, of course sweetheart! Dinner will be ready soon,” she called after him.as he rushed up the stairs. 

“Okay, thanks!” It took all of his effort to not slam the door. 

He collapsed onto his bed and glanced at his phone. 

 _New message: Gabe. Received: 6:32pm_  

 _Yo dude. Delivered the present to Patprick. Dude, you missed out. He was wearing batman PJ's. WHAT A LOSER_  

Pete grinned at the message. He talked to Gabe for another hour, before getting called to dinner. 

 **G** **2** **g** **eat** **d** **nnr** **w** **/** **mom** **n** **Wimpston**  

He waited for a reply. 

 _Argh, dude that sucks. What are you having_ _?_  

 **Idk** **m** **eatloaf** **i** **th** **nk** **?** **y** **ea** **pr** **t** **y** **sur**  

 _Oh, nice. Dude bring me some. Your moms meatloaf is fucking gold_  

 **Yea** **u** **w** **sh** **i** **'m** **eat** **ng** **every** **l** **st** **piec** **e** **asshole**  

 _Fuck you_  

Pete grinned and went downstairs. He got down and saw his mother and Winston seated together. He was holding her hand. 

That was the last straw for Pete. 

He ran back up to his room and slammed his door so hard the house shook. A few moments later he heard his mother come up. 

“Peter?” she asked, her voice muffled by the door. 

“I'm not feeling hungry. You two go and eat.” His voice was practically dripping with poison. 

“Peter, please don't do this-” 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” 

He heard silence. Then he heard her footsteps as she walked away. 

He grabbed his pillow and punched it until the fluff fell out then curled up and spent the rest of the night crying himself to sleep. Alone. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Shit happens?

Pete watched as Patrick trudged through school doors. He noted the way the small male took small shuffling steps. He was wearing the glasses. Good. That made Pete's life much easier. 

He elbowed Gabe in the ribs. “He's here.” Gabe looked up from his phone. He had a small grin on his face. Gabe grinned back. He surged forward to Patrick while Pete stayed back. He watched as Gabe slammed him into some lockers. Patrick didn't look scared; just pissed. Snorting, Pete watched the drama unfold. He watched as Gabe plucked the glasses off of Patrick again and inspect them. Patrick tried snatching them back, but Gabe was taller and held them out of reach. 

Pete snorted as Patrick tried jumping for them. Gabe laughed and dangled them before Patrick. The blushing male snatch them back and tried escaping. That's when Pete made his move. He  sauntered over and walked behind Patrick. With his signature grin on his face, he clasped Patricks shoulder, causing the strawberry-blonde to flinch. Patrick shook free from his grip and turned to face him. His cheeks were completely covered in blush and his glasses fangled on the end of his nose. Pete saw that they were a little to big for his head. 

He scowled when he saw Pete. “What do you want?” 

Pete shook his head and grinned. “Well...” he said tapping his lips, taking absolute pleasure in Patrick's dilemma, “Some gratitude never hurts.” 

“Gratitude for what, exactly?” Patrick sounded more confused then angry. Pete widened his grin. People and onlookers watched, but did nothing to intervene. That was good.  “You know how on Friday you said 'I hope you're mommy loves you enough to pay for my glasses'?” Pete stepped closer. “Turns out she does.” 

Patrick frowned, confused. Then the realisation hit him. His eyes widened and he shook his head. “No. No way. No,” he stammered. Pete laughed. Patrick looked so pathetic. It was almost adorable. Almost. The small male took off his glasses and shoved them into Pete's chest. “I don't want them! Take them back!” 

Pete made no move to grab them. Instead, he smirked. “But I bought them for you,” he said with faux innocence. “It would be very rude to try and get rid of such an expensive gift. Right Gabe?” 

Gabe had been smiling the whole time at the dilemma. Following Pete's lead, he nodded. “Yeah, Bitchtrick. Pete bought them especially for you. The least you could do is wear them.” 

Patrick continued shoving them into Pete's chest. “No! I don't want anything from you!” 

Pete sighed and in a flurry of movements, grabbed Patricks wrists and slammed him into the lockers. Despite being only centimeters taller, Pete held the struggling boys hands above his head. The glasses dropped to the ground. There was fear now. Not annoyance but actual, physical fear. Good. That made Pete happy. 

“Alright Patrick. This is what's going to happen. I gave you something, so now you owe me right? I mean its only fair,” Pete said, staring deeply into frightened blue-green eyes. 

Patrick did nothing but stare back. Pete sighed. “You're meant to nod you head or say yes.” 

Being scared, he did both, much to the pleasure of Gabe who laughed. “Good. Pattycakes knows his place.” 

“Yes, as he should,” Pete remarked. “Now, Patrick... There's a certain person I have a bone to pick with. Only, the thing is: I can't get near them. But they don't know you even exist. Which is very good for me. So here's what you are going to do: you're going to punch them until they bleed. Alright?” 

Patricks eyes widened at the order. He shook his head. “I... No! I can't hurt anybody! I won't!” 

The bully raised an eyebrow. “You won't?” he asked softly. He could feel Patrick tense beneath him. Then the strawberry-blonde shook his head. 

Pete let go of his wrist and grabbed his hair instead. He slammed the boy's head twice into the locker, not letting go of his hair. Patrick winced at the pain, but held his glare on Pete. Snarling, Pete slammed his head harder, in rapid succession. He let go of the male's hair and watched him slowly fall to the ground. Tears fell from Patricks cheeks; giving Pete bittersweet joy. Gabe was laughing loudly. 

“Now... You are going to hurt someone for me, or I'll do that again,” he said slowly. He crouched down to Patrick and roughly grabbed his chin, jerking it up so the male was forced to look at him. “Alright?” 

He watch the small male and saw the fight inside of him. He watched as Patrick debated with himself; a battle within his mind. He watched as the decision was finally made. 

“Alright,” Patrick agreed quietly. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

All weekend, Patrick had spent his time trying to fix himself. His nose was better now-not so swollen-and he could bend over a little without complaints from his stomach. 

He acted fine in front of his mother, and made sure that the hem of his shirt always stayed below his bruising. Having a mother who's a nurse is difficult when trying to hide wounds. But, she seemed to buy into his act. So that was okay. 

The weekend had been amazing. His mother had no work, so they spent their time watching movies and eating popcorn. It was peaceful and nice and it almost made Patrick forget about his injuries. 

Then Monday had come. Patrick dreaded it, but felt okay. After all, someone was watching over him right? How else would he of gotten glasses? 

He felt okay going in. Pete-fucking-Wentz and his friends were nowhere to be seen. So Patrick let his guard down a little. Mistake. 

He was out in the open and Gabe took advantage of that.  

“Lookie, lookie. Bitchtrick's got some new eyewear,” he had said. It was more humiliating that he made Patrick fucking jump for his glasses. 

It got even worse when Pete revealed that he bought the glasses. 

And to top the whole fucking ordeal off, he was practically Pete's bitch. 

Oh, and just on the sidenote, his head felt like it was about to split open. 

Today was shaping up to be fine and fucking dandy. 

Pete and Gabe had left once Patrick had given his... “Consent” to the deal. Alone, and late for class; he trudged his way upstairs to math. 

Math. Fucking math. Why? Why was it the first thing in the fucking morning?! Who even made these time schedules?! Fucking sociopaths? 

Patrick was scolded for being late and tardy. It took all of his effort not to scream at the teacher and hold his tongue. 

Class began and Patrick gave in the homework, hoping he got some of the answers right. He had considered going over it once he had his... Pete's glasses but could not find the effort to do so. 

After handing in homework, Patrick zoned out of the lesson and focused on what Pete had said. 

“There's a certain person I have a bone to pick with...” 

“I can't get near them...” 

“You're going to punch them until they bleed...” 

Who in their right mind would mess with Pete? No, even worse; how important was this person that Pete couldn't get near them? 

Patrick felt trapped. No matter which direction he looked at it, he was trapped. He couldn't give the glasses back. If he broke them, he'd have to deal with Pete and his mother. Also, he'd probably just end up owing Pete even more. 

He couldn't back out. He was terrified of being hurt again. His head still felt like splitting. There's was no one he could turn to. No one would help him. The teachers were useless and so was the principal for that matter. 

He looked at the clock. 9:03. Good enough. 

He excused himself from the class with the excuse of the bathroom. The teacher wasn't happy but Patrick honestly could not care less. His grades no longer mattered to him anyways. 

He hurried to the bathroom, chose a stall and cried. His sobs and tears were silent bit his thoughts were louder than anything. He was out of time. Out of options. Out of everything. Pete hurt him before, but a favour?! What if... He made Patrick humiliate himself? What if the favour turned sexual? 

He cried until it hurt. Until the sadness inside of him stopped burning like wildfire and settled into a small flame. It wasn't rare for him to cry like this. But it was unusual doing it in the public bathroom. Usually, the crying was done in his room or in the shower. 

Patrick used to call his crying spells “The Beast”. Whenever sobs would rack his body-he would be reminded of an animal trying to claw its way out of a cage. 

When he was younger, he had help to contain “The Beast”. Elisa. Just the thought of her made Patrick sad. He missed her. 

She had helped him when his dad died. She had stopped his eating disorder. Most importantly-she had saved him. Memories flooded Patrick of that night. He was... Thirteen? Somewhere around that age anyways. 

Elisa found him. She had cried and screamed. She had begged. She had threatened him. She made him promise. 

 _“Never, ever again Patrick,” she said looking into his eyes. He didn't want to look back. He knew she was disappointed. “Patrick, look at me,” she demanded. He did, guilty tears streaming down his cheeks._ _“I want you to promise me. Right here right now. Fucking promise me that you will never, ever do this again. Because if you do, I will tell your mother everything. You know I will too. Promise me Patrick. Promise that you will never, ever do this again. Fucking promise me!”_   

And he had. 

Some days he regretted that promise. Others he was thankful. It was that promise that kept him walking on a straight line. 

Patrick sat in the stall for a while longer, breathing calming breaths. Then he unlocked the stall and washed his face, scrubbing until it was clean of tears and self-hatred. He returned to the class, once again scolded by the teacher. Apparently spending twenty minutes in a bathroom was worthy of a thirty minute lecture. 

Perhaps it would be okay doing Pete's bidding. Maybe it would earn him a reputation or something... Yeah right. 

“Hopeful thoughts like these are what's going to get me broken bones,” Patrick whispered to himself. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something better. 

Nothing came. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

Pete saw Patrick sit himself at the furthest corner of the cafeteria. Good. Let the little shrimp be alone. Made everything so much better. 

“Hey, Pete!” Harold whispered. “Got something for you.” 

Pete turned and saw Harold holding a small switchblade underneath the table. He was grinning widely. 

“In case the little fag gets rebellious,” he explained when he saw Pete's expression. 

Pete cursed and told Harold to put the blade away. “Are you fucking crazy?!” he asked harshly once the weapon was out of sight. 

Harold frowned. “What?” 

“What's going on,” Gabe said as his slid himself next to Pete. He sounded disinterested and was gazing lovingly at his phone. Pete rolled his eyes. 

“If you're done with your phone sex, Harold bought a fucking switchblade here,” Pete snipped. 

Gabe looked at Harold who shrugged. He frowned. 

“Dude, really? We are walking on really thin ice and you bring a knife to school?” he asked, turning his phone off. 

Harold shrugged again. “It's for fag-boy.” 

Gabe raised an eyebrow. “Dude... Seriously?” 

Even Pete had to agree. “Look. I appreciate the commitment. But cuts are harder to hide than bruises. Me and Gabe-” 

“Gabe and I,” his friend corrected glancing back at his phone. 

“Fuck off. Me and Gabe took a big risk on Friday. Why do you think I gave him glasses?” 

Harold shrugged again. “We don't, have to like, actually stab him. Its more for threatening,” he explained. “In case he chickens out, y'know?” 

Pete sighed. “Yeah, whatever. Just keep that shit hidden. We're already in trouble and I don't need to get suspended or expelled.” 

Harold nodded and waved to someone. He left Pete and Gabe to themselves and their thoughts. 

Gabe was shaking his head. “I hate the little fucker,” he was explaining, “But cutting him? That's like... Going dangerously into psychopath territory.” 

Pete nodded in agreement. And he hated Patrick the most. The little fag always thought he was better than everyone else. Just because he got the best marks in school. Just because girls liked him. 

Just because he had the looks even before he went and lost weight and got a haircut. 

Pete couldn't stand that. Bitchtrick acted like he didn't know; but he fucking knew. He knew he was better than everyone else. 

Was Pete jealous? Yes. He wouldn't admit to anyone but himself. But it was more than jealousy. It was justice. Teaching the prick a lesson as to not go and carry himself around like he was a king. 

That's how Pete saw it anyways. He had convinced himself and basically everyone else that Patrick was out to make everyone feel bad about their selves so he could gloat. 

Gabe had bitten into the rumor. And as soon as he did, so did everyone else. Now Patrick was just pathetic. No longer showing himself-acting like he was better. Pete could've stopped. But what if Pattycakes suddenly decided to make everyone feel bad again? 

The only way for Patrick to know his place was to make sure he stayed there. It was justice. It is justice. It shall always be justice. 

 _“Because justice always lies in the hands of those who abuse it.”_  

Pete shook his head. No time for those thoughts. He had better things to do. 

“So you still up for this afternoon?” Pete asked, directing his attention to Gabe. 

He winced and shut off his phone. “Dude, you're doing it today?” 

Pete raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. I'm doing it when she has cheerleading practice. This afternoon? Remember?” 

His friend grimaced. “Harold, Phineas, Ollie and I all have basketball practice this afternoon...” 

Pete's eyes widened. He slapped himself on the forehead. “Fuck... I totally forgot... No skipping out on it?” 

“Not a chance unless we want to get outed.” 

“Fuck. That's a problem.” 

Gabe shrugged. “Can't you do it tomorrow or something?” 

“No... I got Patprick right where I want him. Everyday I waste is everyday he slips from my grasp. Fear is only good for so long.” 

“Damn,” Gabe winced. 

“Its not a huge problem. I can handle him y'know?” Pete said raising an eyebrow. 

Gabe nodded but frowned. “Dude, I don't doubt that you can kick his ass. But... What if he runs? What if he chickens out? What then?” 

The raven haired boy shrugged. “If he runs, I'll just chase him down. If he chickens out, I'll scare him back into it.” 

Gabe looked thoughtful for a minute. “I think you should take Harold's knife.” He saw Pete's expression and quickly added; “Not to like, hurt him or anything. But y'know... Threaten. Sometimes people need a little extra push.” 

Pete opened his mouth to retaliate, but closed it when he saw where his friend was coming from. Patrick had been getting a little rebellious lately... Especially with that comment from their session yesterday afternoon. 

“Fine. I'll take the switchblade,” he agreed. He turned back to look at Patrick and found the male looking at him. 

The blushing loser quickly looked down and busied himself with an open text book. Pete grinned. 

If felt nice to have someone who was afraid of you. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

Patrick gathered his thing from his locker and trudged to the football field. His head was still pounding, but it no longer felt like splitting in two. 

He looked at his phone and saw a message from his mother. 

 _Patrick. We need to have a chat when you get home. Okay sweetie?_  

He frowned. Did she suspect something? Did she know? Patrick went through his mind thinking of Saturday and Sunday. He acted as normal as possible. How could she suspect anything?! 

Panic bloomed within his chest and he had to remind himself to breath. He was not going to have a fucking panic attack. 

Maybe it wasn't even about him. Right? Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it was about her job. Maybe she got a raise or something. Yeah... Patrick took calming breaths. He forced himself to inhale deeply and exhale slowly. It was a trick his mother had made made for him after his first panic attack. 

 _“Pretend you're like the ocean and your breaths are the waves. When you inhale, that's the tide going in. When you exhale, that the ride coming out. So take long breaths and think of it like the beach, okay?”_  

Patrick imagined the ocean and the waves like his mother told him. He imagined a really big wave coming and crashing into the tide and then slowly going back out again. It helped greatly and he felt better-but there were still shreds of panic within his mind. 

He was eager to get home and see what his mother wanted to chat about with him. He would act natural, no matter what she said. 

He exited the building after most of the people had left. He was out on the field and saw some girls practicing for cheerleading. He watched them for a moment, admiring their flexibility, then went to walk to his hidden shortcut. 

He was about to enter the thick array of trees when suddenly someone grabbed him and pulled him back. Off-balance, Patrick fell on his back, hitting his head roughly in the grass. His books and phone scattered across the grass as he tumbled. Pete-fucking-Wentz was standing above him grinning. 

“Where do you think you're going, Pattycakes?” he asked, hands on hips as though he was an adult who was scolding a young child.  

Patrick groaned and pulled himself to his feet, trying not to wince at his stomach. “What do you want,” he groaned. He saw that his hat had fallen and went to scoop it up. Pete was quicker. He grabbed the cap and put it in his head. Patrick clenched his fists. No one was allowed to touch his hat. No one. 

He went to snatch it off of Pete's head, but instead found his wrist captured by Pete's hand and suddenly he was whipped around and his arm was twisted painfully behind his back. Patrick yelped at the pain, but Pete clamped his hand over his mouth. 

“Please shut up. I have a headache and I don't need your squealing to make it any worse,” Pete said quietly. “Now. Here's what's going to happen. Remember that little favor you owe me? I'm ready to cash it in.” 

Patrick stiffened in terror. He was doing it this soon?! And worse, in the afternoon?! There were no teachers around other than the coach that held afterschool basketball practice-but the basketball court was inside of the school. 

Nobody could help him. He was well and truly fucked. 

“See those cheerleaders over there? See the one with the short blonde hair? No, not that one, the other one. Yeah, her. Her name's Ashlee. She stood me up. That bitch stood me up and is starting to spread rumors about me.” Pete tightened his grip on Patricks wrist, pushing his arm up further on his back. 

He winced at the pain, but Pete didn't seem to notice. Or if he did he just didn't care. 

“That's who I want you to beat, Patprick. I want you to go over there and beat her until she bleeds from her skin.” 

Patrick somehow managed to wrestle himself out of Pete's death grip. He turned and faced the bully. 

“I-I... I cant hit a girl!” he protested. “That's violence! Its bound to get a suspension!” 

Pete raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think I making you do this? I don't want to get in trouble with the school.” 

Patrick shook his head. He wasn't scared anymore. He was furious. How dare Pete use him like this. To beat up a girl? To not get suspended? And he was still wearing Patricks fucking cap! 

“No! I refuse to do this! I don't care what you do to me! I'm not fucking hitting a girl,” he screamed, fists clenched. 

The bully narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn't say that if I were you.” Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tool. He flicked it and suddenly there was a blade in Pete-fucking-Wentz's hands. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

Pete watched as fear filled Patrick. Hell, he could literally smell the fear coming off of him. He was suddenly glad that Gabe had convinced him to take the switchblade. Life would've been very, very difficult without it. 

“Now, Pattycakes. I believe there is a certain girl you need to beat up?” he said twirling the blade around. 

Patrick gulped and looked back at Pete. “All this... To beat up a girl?” he breathed. The kid looked like he was starting to hyperventilate. 

“She's spreading rumors about me. Now be a good boy and make her pay.” 

“... N-no... Because you can't cut me.” Patrick stared deep into Pete's eyes. He could feel himself wince at the words. Fuck. This wasn't going well. 

Trying to play it off, Pete retorted, “What makes you think that?” 

Patrick shrugged. He took a few breaths before managing his words. “If... If I-I go home w-with cuts... My mom w-will see.” 

Pete scowled. He knew Patrick was smart but fuck. This smart? The little twerp had managed to figure out the one flaw in Pete's plan: The fact that Pete couldn't threaten him. 

... Or... Wait. Was that entirely true though? A light bulb went off inside his head and he grinned. 

He pulled the cap off of his head and inspected it. He saw Patricks eye's widen and knew that he had him in his clutches once again. Yes, there was a weakness in Pete's plan. But there was also a weakness in Patrick. Patrick started towards him but Pete moved the switchblade closer to his hat. 

Patrick stopped. He glared at Pete, hate fueling the fire within his eyes. 

The raven haired male cocked his head to the side and smiled slightly. “What is it about this hat Patrick? I'm honestly curious as to why you care about it so much...”  

“Please... Just... It's my hat!” Patrick screamed. And suddenly he was on top of Pete. 

Dazed, Pete dropped down to the ground as Patrick tackled him. His head hit stick and a rock and suddenly there were stars in his vision. The knife fell from his grasp and he couldn't find it near him. He felt Patrick on top of him and gathered his wits. He aimed to punch the male in the face, but Patrick moved at the last second and caught his shoulder instead. 

Still, it was enough to put Patrick off-balance, and Pete shoved him onto his back and climbed on top. 

He punch Patrick twice in the jaw, then hunched over in pain as Patrick managed to hit him in the stomach. The terrified male pushed Pete away and was off running. 

Pete should've let him go. But now he was angry. How dare that little cunt punch him. HOW FUCKING DARE HE RUIN HIS PLANS?! 

Pete looked around and saw the knife and grabbed it. He chased after Patrick, yelling obscenities at him that would've made even the most vulgar person alive want to cover up their ears. Patrick was crying and that somehow made Pete angrier. He saw completely red when he noticed the cap on top of the little fuckers head. HOW HAD HE MANAGED TO GET THE HAT BACK?! 

Pete was going to hurt him. He could feel it deep inside of him. 

After all... It was justice. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

Patrick could hear Pete get closer. He was going to die. He knew it. He had seen the murder within those brown eyes. Those obscenities were truthful. Adrenaline made him run faster than he had ever ran before. But Pete was still behind him. 

Patrick fell with a comical “oof!” as Pete tackled him to the ground. Stones and twigs cut into his body, but he barely felt them. 

Pete twisted Patrick around, so that he laid now on his back. He was shaking from fear as Pete raised the switchblade. Patrick closed his eyes. He didn't want to see his death. 

He waited. But the blow never came. Opening his eyes he realised that he could no long feel Pete on him. He sat up and saw a man holding the switchblade to Petes' neck. 

He grinned at Patrick. “Don't do anything hasty now. Or I'll gut your little friend here.” 

Somewhere in the back of Patricks mind, he wanted to scream: “He's not my friend! He just tried to kill me!” 

But instead came out a squeak. Pete was struggling with the guy; trying to get free. The guy had one arm wrapped around his neck and the holding the blade to his chest. 

Pete suddenly looked behind Patrick. Patrick turned and saw another male behind him. The small male tried to scramble to his feet, but the guy abruptly grabbed the back of Patricks shirt and slammed him down on his stomach. Patrick saw dark spots enter his vision. He felt something tugging at his arms and Pete was shouting, but all he could focus on was the pain. It overwhelmed him and he could comprehend nothing else. 

He saw Pete pushed down in front of him and the guy who was holding him took out a plastic tie and made quick work of it on the struggling males hands. He did the same thing to his legs. The two males stepped back and started talking about... Something. Patrick couldn't keep up. There was too much pain. He watched as his vision swirled. And then, there was nothing but black. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

Pete struggled with the plastic tie around his hands and feet. He looked up at Patrick but he was passed out. Pete started screaming for help, hoping that someone would hear. He screamed bloody murder wishing that someone would come and save them. Then there was cloth inside his mouth and he heard tape being stretched. He struggled, but they stuck it on his face with ease. The fuckers had gagged him. 

The tall one who had gotten Patrick scowled. He kicked Pete in the stomach roughly, then slapped him hard when he groaned. 

“You're lucky I don't kill you for that,” he said. He looked at Patrick and snorted when he saw he had blacked out. 

He shoved a piece of rag into the his mouth and duct taped it as he had done with Pete. 

“Should we blindfold them?” The one who had held him asked. He sounded bored. 

Pete wanted to kill him. 

Patricks' captor thought then nodded. “Yeah. It'll be easier.” 

Before Pete could even try to struggle, another strip of duck tape went over his eyes. He heard another be broken off for Patrick. 

He twisted and turned trying to get out of the plastic ties until he felt his wrists start bleeding. 

“I think that's one is going to give us trouble,” he heard one of the captors say. The other one sounded aggravated when he answered: “Then just knock him out.” 

Pete froze and worked harder on freeing himself but then something hit him in the back of his head and suddenly, sleep seemed welcoming to him as he fell into its grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love cliffhangers?


	3. Chapter Three (God I'm so original)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDK I don't write this shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... Basically I update on the first of every month from now on. I've written, like two mother chapters which are waiting for next month. Maybe if I feel nice I'll post another chapter in the upcoming weeks. Idk, see how I feel. Anyways-enjoy my obvious angst- fluff... I meant fluff.

Pete woke to an astonishing pain in the back of his skull. It burned like fire and made him gasp for air... 

...Only for him to realise that he couldn't move his mouth. He panicked for a moment, then memories flooded into his mind like a waterfall and his pain was replaced with terror. 

He couldn't see anything. His hands were still behind his back and his wrist were coated in dried blood. Great. Just perfect. He groaned at the pain and forced himself to breath through his nose. Slow and steady. Don't panic. No not yet. He calmed himself as best as he could, and quietened his breathing. He may not be able to speak or talk, but he could listen. He heard breathing beside him and was confused to who it was. Then he realised. 

Patrick had been captured with him. Out of all the people in the fucking world, Patrick Stump was the one person that Pete had to be kidnapped with. Could this day get any better? Pete mentally cursed at his luck. Wait... Kidnapped? Was this... Was he actually being kidnapped?! 

Pete started to panic once again. Yeah, he read about kidnappings, and yeah he had heard about them. But now he was actually being kidnapped. For once, Pete didn't know what to think. He was always quick with his mind; making plans on whim and putting two and two together. But now? He was scared. He'd heard stories. Bad stories. Bad enough to actually shake him to his core. The only solace he found was that he and Patrick weren't dead yet. They were restrained, but conscious. 

Well... Pete was conscious anyways. 

He felt around with his legs until he kicked something soft. Fuck did he wish that he wasn't blindfolded. He nudged the soft thing with his feet and heard a groan. A moment later he heard panicked breaths wheezing. He shouted at what he assumed was Patrick to show that he was here. If Pete wanted to get out alive, he would need help. Can't get help from someone who has a panic attack. He heard Patrick groan back and some shuffling. He tried to figure out what the boy was doing, but couldn't make sense if the scrapes and scuffles around him. It went on for about a minute before silence crept back. 

Suddenly he heard a ripping sound and loud breaths being taken. There was another ripping sound and a gasp. 

“Pete?” 

Pete shouted at Patrick. Or tried to. He felt something tug at his gagged mouth and then there was a sharp pain as the tape came off. Patrick had not been gentle. Pete spat the gag out of his mouth and moved his aching jaw. 

“Quick, get this duct tape off of me!” Damn. Even tied up he sounded commanding. Good. 

There was another tug at his blindfold and a sharp pain as that was pulled off too. Pete blinked, confused as to why everything was still dark. His eyes adjusted and he could make out the figure in front of him. Patrick had somehow managed to get his hands in front of him. He had a bruise on his cheek and a cut with some dried blood on his forehead. His eyes were wide and terrified. Pete could relate. 

“Where are we? What happened?! Oh, God are those guys going to kill us?! Oh, jeeze; I don't want to-” 

“Shut the fuck up!” Pete whispered harshly. He was in no mood for Patrick's hysteria. “Why are you asking me the questions? I don't know shit!” 

Patrick shook his head. “There were two guys... And... Oh my God, are we being abducted like those kids?!” 

Pete's eyes widened. Those teens who went missing... Where he and Patrick just two more to be added to the list? 

“I... I-I... I don't know,” Pete answered. He wish he knew something. He hated feeling so fucking helpless. He felt as though he was always someone who had to do something in a situation. The leader almost. Now here he was, hands tied while Patrick had managed to get both of their blindfolds and gags off. 

“How'd you get your hands in front of you?” Pete demanded. He refused to be the pathetic weakling of the situation. 

“I... Pulled them to my legs so I could fit them through. But... Its really hard,” he added, trying his best to demonstrate. 

Pete caught on and flailed about for a while until he too had his arms in front of him. His wrist started to bleed again, but it was a price he was willing to pay. It made him feel better. Arms behind meant he was exposed. Now, at least he could do a little damage and protect himself.  

“We're in a van,” Patrick observed. Pete almost slapped himself for not immediately looking at his surroundings. Pete's eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough to see that Patrick was indeed telling the truth. 

The van was small. Could perhaps fit maybe two more people before becoming crowded. The flooring seemed to be rubbing mats, though they did nothing for comfort. 

“Are we moving?” Patrick suddenly asked. Pete frowned, and tried to listen and feel any bumps or movements that might suggest someone was driving the van. 

He felt nothing. “No... I think we've stopped or... Something?” 

There was silence between them before a loud scream broke through. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

Patrick's mind could not seem to comprehend the situation properly. He should be freaking out. He should be crying. He should be pissing himself and screaming for his mommy. Instead, he was calm. He was rational. And he was trying to think of a plan.  From the moment he had woken-or been woken-he had taken action. Yeah, he freaked out a little when he woke up. But he had switched on somehow, knowing that he had to get the gag and blindfold off. 

Just like he knew that he had to not get on Pete's nerves. Because, reality check, despite the problem at hand and Patrick's input to the dilemma, Pete could still make him jump. No matter how hard he tried, the images of Pete with the knife were still flashing in his mind. He tried burying them, forgetting... Nothing worked. Patrick was so sure that Pete was going to kill him. 

But... Pete was just a bully. Not a murderer... Right? His thoughts were tossed away the moment he heard the scream. It sounded nothing like the screams in horror movies. It was filled with agony. It was too realistic. 

“What the hell was-” 

“Shhh!” Patrick snapped. He listened.. He was sure he had heard something. He listened again-focusing on every sound. Then he heard it again. Heavy footsteps. Coming towards the van. He looked to Pete who had was frowning. Seemed like he had heard it too. 

The footsteps sounded closer. There was another sound, but Patrick couldn't identify it. It was almost like... 

The doors suddenly opened and bright light flooded through-causing a gasp from Pete. Patrick automatically raised his hands to his eyes, trying to squint. 

“How'd you two get free?” a voice asked in a drawling manner. It was strangely infuriating. 

Patrick heard the man-for the voice was unmistakably male-drop two things to the side of the vehicle before being yanked by his feet out of the van. He tried kicking but the guy was too quick. He brought Patrick close to him and slapped him with enough force that he saw stars. He was dumped on the ground and hissed as sticks and rocks cut into his legs. Patrick heard a scuffle; shouting and the male hissing in pain. He was filled with hope until a sickening crunch and an abruptly cut-off scream ended the fight. Pete was dropped beside Patrick; eyes glazed and his nose bleeding. 

“Oi! Shane! These two got free somehow,” the male said. Patrick resented his stupid voice. He hated that he hadn't fought back like Pete. He hated that he felt tears and started to blink furiously because no, dammit! He would not cry.  

There was the sound of a door opening and slamming shut and footsteps much lighter than the other male's echoed as who Patrick could only assume was “Shane” came closer. Patrick twisted his head to glimpse at the other kidnapper. He was tall; much taller than Patrick and built strong. His eyes were black empty pits that reminded Patrick of a shark. 

No... This guy seemed crueller than a shark. 

He looked back at Patrick with amusement. His eyes scanned over Pete and he sighed when he saw the bloody nose. 

“I thought I told you the goods weren't meant to be damaged?” Shane asked. But he didn't seem upset. No. In fact he was smiling softly. It sickened Patrick. 

The other guy shrugged. “He was causing trouble. He'll definitely be good for The Rounds. He's a natural fighter.” 

Rounds? What the fuck where “rounds”? The strawberry-blonde struggled; forcing himself to sit up. He almost did before a kicking force to his chest made him fall back. He wheezed and gasped; he could feel his lungs tightening. There was dizziness and he couldn't control his breathing properly. Disorientation swept in and there suddenly seemed to be no air even though there was just a few seconds ago. He had no idea what was happening. He was confused and scared and he couldn't breath. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. It was fucking panic attack. 

“What's the matter with him?” Shane asked absent-minded.  

Hedidn'tcarehedidn'tcaredeathfuckpatrickwasgoingtodieheknewitfuckpetewasgoingtodienohismomfuck. 

Tremors shook through him as thoughts raced around his head; nohewasgoingtodieandnobodywouldknowfuckdeathdeathdeath. 

People were shouting in the distance. Somebody kicked Patrick again but he felt nothing. Still more shouting. Still more tremors. Still more thoughts. 

Lieshellfuckhewasn'tgoingtobealivetoseehismotheragainfuckwouldn'thugheragainfuckhewasgoingtohellthat'swherealllyingpeoplewenthewasdyingfuckdeathhewasallalonehewasalwaysalone. 

He shook harder, teeth clamping now. He rolled in the dirt, spasms coursing through his muscles. Somewhere his mind screamed for him to control himself. But the thoughts were drowned out by shear terror as another muscle spasm rocked his body. 

Still shouting. Another kick. No pain. Just death. Only death. 

Toovibrantcoloursnotenoughairdeathwasgettinghimhecouldfeeldirteverywherehewasdyingnoairnothingjustdeathdeathdeath 

And then... A face. 

Pete'sfacepetewasgoingtokillhimdeathlonelinesspetewasgoingtocuthimlikehepromisedfucknothingwouldstophim. 

“Patrick!” 

HisnamehadSatancomealreadywashedeadwasthisHell? 

“That's right! Listen to me!” 

Nopetewastalkingwaspetethedevil? The thought was funny and it made Patrick laugh. He laughed until he was sure his throat was burning and bloody before he felt a slap on his face. It wasn't hard. Just enough to get attention. 

“Hey! Look at me! No, fucking-” Pete broke off and shook Patrick from his shoulders. “Look at me! Yeah, that's right! Good. No! Don't look away! Only at me... Good. Now look at my breathing. Do you hear it? Alright, here's what going to happen: You're going to follow my breathing, okay?” 

Patrick looked deep into Petes' eyes. He never noticed their colour before. They were brown. 

“Yes! That's it! Follow my breathing, okay?” Pete still held his shoulders, keeping the small male steady. “Ready? In, out. No! Don't be too quick! Watch me; in, out. Yeah, you got it.” 

Patrick followed Pete's breathing. He felt tears and started panicking again. He didn't want to cry. If he cried they would kill him fuck death he was going to- 

“Hey! Its okay! Cry if you want, just follow my breathing. You can cry, alright?” Pete said, his voice firm. But it sounded... Nice. 

Patrick kept staring and continued matching his breathing. He cried but his chest pain went away and now he could breath. He gathered his thoughts and thought of the ocean. In comes the tide... Out it goes... He stoped shaking and opened his clamped jaw. Pete was looking at him frowning intensely. 

Patrick shook his head. “Thanks Pete...” he mumbled. Pete breathed a sigh of relief and turned to something behind him. He still hadn't let go of Patrick's shoulders. 

“He was having a fucking panic attack,” he snapped at someone. Patrick tried turning, but Pete's hands were still on his shoulders. 

“Huh... Thought he was spastic or something.” Shane. Fucking Shane. Of course. Hatred came back and replaced the void inside of him. Pete scowled and finally let go of Patrick. Without the support, he slumped forward. He felt almost like a ragdoll. 

“Tie them up again,” he heard Shane command. “Don't bother wth the blindfolds. Just tie and gag. I'll put the others in.” 

The other kidnapper looked between Pete and Patrick. It was then that the other boy noticed that Pete no longer had his hands tied. That's how he had been able to- 

Others? Others?! Patrick turned his head to see Shane holding another person-probably a little taller than Patrick. He practically threw the unconscious being into the van; only stepping in to straighten the guys legs. That was all he saw before rough hands pushed Patrick onto his stomach. He felt something land on the back of his head and a click that sounded a lot like a gun from the movies. 

“Alright pretty boy. You try anything, and I'll blow his brains out. Got it?” 

Patrick felt dread overcome him. Pete would comply... Right? He did save him from the panic attack... Or... Had he been forced to? Patrick felt his chest tightening and immediately though of the ocean. Only the ocean. The waves, they come in; they go out. He prayed that Pete would comply. Please, whatever God there was... Please just let Pete do this one nice thing. Please. God must've finally been listening because the next thing he knew, the kidnapper was off of him and tying up Pete. 

This time however, the kidnapped used duct tape instead of plastic ties. After tying his hands, the kidnapped examined his work, before taping his elbows as well. All the while Pete struggled to get free, but to no avail. Then it was Patricks turn. He struggle as much, but the kidnapper just laughed at his pathetic attempts and made quick work of him. Both boys were gagged as before and thrown into the van with two new people. Patrick stared at the new arrivals with pity. One had a mass of thick brown hair and the other had tattoos that seemed to take up his whole body. 

Pete noticed them, but turned his attention to his bindings. Patrick didn't bother. What was the point? Even if he did get free, where would he go? He had no idea where they were; he had no money and he was missing his cell. 

No matter how he looked he was trapped. 

Always trapped. It would seem it was becoming a habit of his. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

If Pete had to rate his day on a scale of one to ten, he'd give it a negative thirty. Why him? Why did he have to be kidnapped?! Why did he have to deal with a fucking bloody nose of which-by the way-he could barely breath through. 

Seriously, fuck his life. 

He twisted and turned trying get lose of the tape. The guy had been smart this time. By taping his elbows, Pete could no longer manoeuvre his arms properly. He struggled some more, hoping to at least cause some tearing but no success came with the effort. Temporality defeated, he turned his attention to the new people. 

They looked taller than him-then again almost everyone was taller than him. Fuck his small height. Didn't mean he couldn't kick ass though. One of the guys had hair that looked like a birds nest. It was sticking out in almost every direction possible; completely messy and unkempt. The other guy looked a little more decent. He had combed red hair and tattoos that appeared on his arms and snaked their way from his chest to his shoulders. 

Both looked to be seventeen or older. Same age as he and Patrick. Coincidence? Yeah right. It was official. These were the kidnappers everyone was talking about. The ones who had already abducted about seven other kids. 

Better and better. 

Tired of staring at the new arrivals, Pete turned his attention on Patrick. The small boy had his back to him and seemed to be deep in thought. Pete wished he could mind-read. It was funny really. He never expected Patrick t be the sort to suffer from a panic attack. Yeah, he got bullied but... He always seemed to play it off. It was weird comforting Patrick. Pete was the bully. He was the one who hurt. But now... Was he going soft? Just because he saw Patrick rolling in the dirt out of terror? 

_“Given time, even the hardest of stones can crumble away into nothing.”_

Yeah right. No. He had not been kind to Patrick. He'd simply done it because they literally held a fucking gun to his head. 

“Fix the kid or I'll shoot you both,” they guy had told him. So he took care of Patrick and saved both their lives. 

Looks like Patrick owed him another favour. Good. Pete was planning on using it. He wondered how Gabe was doing. Did they know he was missing? He tried to imagine police searching for him and Patrick. He thought of his mom... He didn't even get to apologise... He had been so angry that he fled the house without saying goodbye that morning... Did she miss him? Was she even crying? Probably not. Chances were she was curled up with Winston and laughing. He could just picture the scenario in his mind. 

_“Is this what being childless feels like? I should have gotten rid of him years ago!”_

_Winston smiled and full on groped and kissed her. “Never... Did... Like him...” he whispered between kisses._

_She laughed in agreement._

Pete felt tears threatening to fall. He blinked furiously; moving his mind somewhere else. No time to think of how happy his mom would be now that he was gone. Think about the restraints. What can he do to free himself? Think about duct tape. What affects it? Water... Scissors... Other things that Pete clearly doesn't have. He felt his hands behind to sweat. It was hot inside of the van and him wearing a long sleeved shirt didn't help. 

Sweat... Water... FUCKING. SON. OF. A. BITCH.  

He wanted to slap himself for not realizing the solution sooner. Slowly, he began trying to move his hands in circles. His wrist were still bloody, but for now he ignored the pain. It wasn't easy trying to rub his hands together. The tape on his elbows made motion almost impossible. But he carried on. He felt the dried blood fall away and soon his wrists were bleeding again. It hurt, but added to the sweat. Pete continued to move his hands against each other in full circles. It was uncomfortable, painful and outright monstrous. But he kept going. Patrick soon noticed and watched him. After seeing what he was doing, the male put two and two together and shook his head at him. 

Pete frowned and cocked his head to the side. A mock gesture of: “What?” 

Patrick shrugged and nodded at the door. He shook his head, then nodded towards the adjacent wall of the door. The one where the head of the van was connected to. Pete raised an eyebrow, trying to decipher the message. The door may have meant... Freedom? Shaking his head obviously meant no. Then the kidnappers... 

Pete then realized. If he tried to escape the people would just capture him again. He hadn't thought that far ahead... He didn't even consider the possibility. He just wanted to get free. His frowned deepened. What would he do once he got out? He had no idea where they were. When he and Patrick where abruptly pulled out of the van, all that surrounded them were trees and bushes. No roads either. Just dirt. 

He didn't have his phone. He left it in his locker at school. Along with his wallet. He had nothing. He looked at Patrick, but doubted he had anything either. There was no doubt in his mind that his kidnappers were the ones that had abducted those other seven kids. Police had been chasing them for months. These guys weren't amateurs. 

So there was no way that they wouldn't have searched him or Patrick while they were unconscious. They probably didn't leave any evidence behind either. Most likely scenario; Pete's switchblade and Patricks glasses and hat were all gone and buried or broken or hidden somewhere. 

But... But... 

Despite all of this... Despite the odds and the actual likelihood of him escaping and getting home... 

Despite the dread and knowledge and the voices in his head telling him it wasn't worth it... 

Hell, despite the fact that deep down he knew it was futile... 

He wanted to try. 

So he just shrugged at Patrick and continued circling his hands, ignoring the stare he got from the other. Patrick eventually turned away, and went back to looking deep in thought. Which-in all honesty-was absolutely fine with Pete. Good. Let Bitchtrick mope. Let him have no fucking hope. 

It'll be better when Pete got out and told his story to the police. 

“Patrick refused to do shit,” he would say. “I never lost hope and pushed through. Please, no autographs. Ah! The paparazzi?!” 

The daydream filled Pete with determination. He was going to get out. He would save everyone. He felt a slip. Fuck yeah! One step closer to glory. Excited, he moved his hands faster, excreting more blood and sweat. Each time he circled his hands, his elbows would flex outward; creating a tightness in his elbows. But now he could feel a looseness developing there too. 

It all filled him with more hope. 

Pete lost track of time. He had no idea for how long they drove for, nor how long he circled his hands. There were no windows within the van, so no way of estimating. From the last time they had gotten out, the sun had still been up-the day still bright, but growing dark. Pete guesses that they were entering the evening. Maybe... He tested his hands again. Squeezed them together as tightly as possible and tried moving his left hand. He felt it slide. There was massive discomfort, and a little pain within his shoulder, but it was sliding... 

            ...Sliding 

Then it was out. Pete had freed his wrists. Now, his elbows. He found no way he could slide out of the tape, so he instead went for force. He pushed his elbows with as much force as he could muster. He heard the tape stretch. He continued pulling. 

SNAP! 

He was free. Patrick looked up from the loud noise and his eyes widened as Pete removed his gag. He quickly undid his legs and shakily stood, a grin forming on his face. 

Patrick screamed once Pete stood up. Pete looked at him and cocked his head, grinning. 

“Asking for my help?” he questioned. A voice in the back of his head told him to stop being cocky and help the guy. For once, he listened to it. He rushed over and harshly ripped of the gag. Patrick winced and grimaced as he spat out the cloth. Pete went around and picked at his bonds with his fingers, finding the place where the tape had started. He suddenly felt happy that he'd stop biting his finger nails. He unwound the tape from his wrists and did the same for his elbows in silence. Once his arms were free, Patrick worked in his legs while Pete searched for another way out. 

He felt the doors and groaned when he couldn't open them. “I think their barricaded... Shit, what do you think we should-” he was cut off by the sound of tape being removed. 

He turned and saw that Patrick was picking at tattoo boys restraints. His jaw dropped to the floor. 

“What are you doing?!” he hissed, stomping over to him. Did Patrick really think that he could save these people? 

“Saving these people.” 

Apparently, yes.  

Pete groaned and grasped Patricks shoulder roughly. He turned the small male to face him. 

“Listen to me,” he growled. He was sick and tired of Patricks shit. Even when he was out of the school, he pretended that he was better than everyone else. There was no reason that he should save the strangers, other than to show up Pete. 

“These guys are still unconscious. Alright? And even if they did wake up, it unlikely that we'd get far with them tagging along. We'd all get caught in a matter of minutes. The only logical way to save them is too leave them behind.” 

Patrick opened his mouth to argue, but Pete carried on, unfazed. 

“Four is a crowd. Me and you can save them, but we have to go by ourselves. What? Do you want all of us getting caught again? Or would you rather not get caught and save the day?” 

Patrick opened and closed his mouth. He was tense in Pete's hands but he watched the fire slowly die within his eyes. Finally, Patrick nodded. “But we can at least untie them first,” he said and pulled out of Pete's hands. He went back to the restraints of tattoo boy and began picking around again. Pete gave a noise that sounded between a sigh and groan. He ignored Patrick, and continued looking for a way out. The doors were barricaded... No windows... Fuck. Nothing. But there had to be a way out. He had not come this far only to be trapped again. 

He searched and searched, but found nothing. Frustrated, he sat down; ignoring a look from Patrick who was now working on frizzy-heads tape. Pete tried thinking out of the box. Think... Think... Think... 

No windows. No doors. No sun roofs. No fucking trapdoors. No nothing. 

Pete turned his attention back to the doors. Alright, it was the only way out. Pete took a chance and slammed himself on the back of the doors. Patrick looked up as he made contact and raised an eyebrow at him. He had just finished untying the frizzy hairs bonds. 

“What are you-” 

“Its the only way out. Stop helping them and come help me,” Pete snapped. Patrick stood and walked to Pete's side. No argument. Good. Now was not the time. 

“Alright. Here's what going to happen; when I say go, run with me and hit that door with your shoulder as hard as you can. Got it?!” 

Patrick nodded and positioned himself into a running stance. He stared forward; waiting for Pete to give the word. Pete also positioned himself and prepared for impact. He wasn't stupid. This was going to hurt. But there was no way he was ready to give up yet. 

“Ready... GO!” 

Pete launched himself with Patrick and they both his the door with their shoulders. The door didn't budge. Patrick fell to the ground clutching his shoulder. Pete brushed away his pain and went back to the other side of the van. Patrick reluctantly got up and stood with him again. He rubbed his shoulder once more, then settled back into position. 

“...GO!” 

They both launched themselves again but the doors still did not budge. Patrick slumped to the ground, clutching his other shoulder. He winced as he rubbed it and stared at Pete. “I don't think-” 

He was suddenly thrown against the wall with Pete as the van stopped abruptly. Pete regained his footing quickly and swore. 

“Fuck, get up! I think they heard us!” he screamed, forgetting how to whisper. 

Patrick scrambled to his feet just as the doors opened. Pete didn't think. He just reacted. He jumped out of the vehicle and landed almost gracefully on his feet. He took off running, forgetting about Patrick, about how he didn't have a phone, about how he had no idea where he was going. 

He just ran. 

He didn't make it far though before he heard a thud and someone yelling. That's not what stopped him though. What stopped him was the sound of a gunshot. 

Pete froze in his place. Did someone shoot at him? Was he shot? He didn't feel pain?! Did they miss? He was about to take off running again before hearing a whimper and a gun click. Slowly-painfully slowly-he turned and saw the kidnapper called Shane holding Patrick by the throat. A gun was pointed at the kids head. 

Shane clicked his tongue and tsked-tsked at Pete. 

“You two are giving me quite the headache, y'know?” he stated casually, as though he wasn't holding a gun to Patricks head. Pete felt sudden anger. All he wanted to do was fucking escape and now Patrick had gone and fucked that up for him. 

“Oh, and don't think I didn't notice those other two. Which one untied them? Or did you both do it?” he asked. Pete frowned. This guy seemed like he was stalling. For what? 

Pete remained silent as his brain whirled. Shane shook his head. “Answer or I'll cover that tree there with his blood.” Patrick whimpered again and Pete saw him trying to fight back tears. 

But his voice was clear when he answered: “I did it.” 

Shane turned to Patrick. “That's strange. You don't seem like the rebellious type at all. In fact, you seem more like a weakling to me.” He smiled at the end of his sentence. It looked like the smile of a shark. 

Patrick looked down, then glared right into Shane. “Am I more than you bargained for, yet?” he spat. Pete found himself admiring the act. 

He was terrified. Shaking. But Patrick had just insulted Shane. Maybe he wasn't a little bitch after all... 

Shane however, was not as impressed. His smiled disappeared and anger flooded in. “I hate cockiness,” he simply stated. 

Then he shot Patrick in the foot. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

Patrick had experienced all sorts of pain before. Emotional, physical, mental... He had experienced them. 

When he learned of his fathers death, Patrick had felt an amazing amount of pain well up inside of him; creating a storm of panic attacks and guilt. 

When he had first cut himself, the stinging pain had hurt like crazy. The aftermath was just as worse. 

He got beat up everyday. That was pretty bad too. Especially when all of Pete's friends joined in. 

But none of those could even compare to the agony of his foot. 

He knew he was going to regret those words he said. But he was done with the kidnapping thing. Pete and he had been so close-so fucking close. So he had talked back. And he had felt good about it. Then he heard the shot and for a second thought that he was going to die. Then pain had erupted from his foot and he could feel it take over him. It wasn't a wave of pain. 

It was a tsunami. 

He had collapsed to the ground, holding his foot. He heard screaming and realized that he was the one doing it. All other noise faded into the background. The conversation between Pete and Shane meant nothing to him. The only thing that matters was the pain. His vision went blurry and he knew he was crying. But he didn't care. He only cared about his foot. And the pain. He felt something be pressed on the back of his head. Somewhere in his mind, panic built. But it was over taken by the pain. At that moment, he didn't care if he got shot. He just wanted the pain to go away. 

Someone must've been listening to him because the next thing he knew, something hit him and he was fading away into an inky black abyss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look.  
> Another cliffhanger.  
> ;)  
> Kuddos are always appreciated. But like-don't if you don't want to.  
> Oh, ye one more thing. Theres two song lyrics hidden in the chapter. Leave the lyrics and the songs they came from in the comments.


	4. Chapter Four (Holy shit this is so late)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BOOOOORED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO WILLIAM IS VERY UNORTHODOX.  
> VERY, VERY UNORTHODOX

Brendon no longer slept. To many ~~nightmares~~ dreams; to many ~~risks~~ problems... Any moment he let his guard down was a ~~risk~~ problem. Not that it mattered. They always caught him with his guard down. It was another form of ~~torture~~ testing, he supposed. Leave them for a while... Maybe weeks at a time. Then, when they get a little hopeful; take away and ~~burn~~ stop it as more Rounds are enlisted.

Brendon coward to the corner of the room as they came for him. Sarah wasn't with them... Of course she wasn't. She told him that it was getting to suspicious to soon.

Another dagger that stabbed at his bleeding hope. It was still ~~nice~~ traitorous to think of her as an ally. But it did fill him with shreds of ~~happiness~~ unidentified feelings.

He made feeble attempts to swat away the hands that reached for him. It wouldn't stop them-it never stopped them. They would ~~laugh~~ observe him and grab and ~~laugh~~ observe some more. Then they would restrain him and take him away to more Rounds.

Even after all these months; it was a ~~blow to his pride~~ a humbling necessity as they held him down and applied handcuffs to his wrists. It ~~hurt~~ was a reminder that he was so ~~powerless~~ controllable and ~~weak~~ easier to deal with. He heard Dallon yelling obscenities from the other corner of the room. It was ~~painful~~ uncomfortable as Brendon remembered that he had once been the same. But after getting ~~gagged~~ quietened and administered to even more ~~harsh~~ excessive Rounds, he stopped.

Dallon would learn to as well. Eventually.

The workers pulled Brendon to his feet; tugging on his cuffs to be sure that he was completely ~~powerless~~ restrained. Once they had been ~~sloppy~~ caught off-guard with Gerard and he had managed to take down three of them before being caught. They were extra ~~harsh~~ careful around him now.

Brendon said nothing as they escorted him down the hall. At one point they ~~pushed~~ coincidentally ran into him; ~~laughing~~ giving shocked giggles as he stumbled and almost fell. It ~~wasn't~~ was an accident.

Today was a new room but the same activity. The room was a bare white and the only furniture was a chair. The room created no sound; upon entering it was only silence. No footprints; no breathing; no nothing. No sound-just silence.

This wasn't the worst ~~torture~~ test. But it came a close second. Brendon refused to fight as they ~~shoved~~ ushered him into the chair. He grunted but heard no sound as the room drowned him. His hands were still cuffed begin him; creating an ~~awkward~~ durable seating position.

Two other workers strapped his legs to the chair. Brendon thought about kicking them away and making a run for it-traitortraitortriatortraitortheyknowwhatyourethinkingtraitor-but he knew better. Gerard couldn't ~~escape~~ leave in his best health. Brendon hadn't eaten for three days. He was ~~tired~~ fully rested and ~~hungry~~ fed fully and ~~dehydrated~~ not thirsty at all.

He was ~~vulnerable~~ willing to the ~~torture~~ tests.

That's why when the first Round was stabbed into his neck; he didn't scream ~~yestoudidyouscreamedaolouddontdenyit~~. He took the test ~~noitstorturenottesttorture~~ like the good little subject he was and allowed the Round to overtake him ~~ishouldfightbutifidoilldieohgodimscaredishpuldntbethinkingthisimterrifiedohgodsaveme~~.

He tried controlling his thoughts but found himself to busy twitching and watching as his vision faded into a ~~horrible~~ delightful yellow. Then the pain started and now he couldn't deny it. He was screaming. There was no sound; but he could feel the sensation in his throat as the Round took him away to his nightmares.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

_Patrick was scared. It was his first day of school and he was worried about everything. He wished his daddy was home. Mommy had told him that daddy had to go on a holiday for a while. Patrick wondered why he didn't take anyone with him._

_Megan and Kevin had seen him off. They went to their big school and he went to his little one. Megan had kissed and wished him luck. Kevin had teased and further worried Patrick before leaving._

_He walked into the classroom watching as all the kids were talking. It was noisy and uncomfortable as Patrick set his bag in a corner where others had also been placed. He stood around for a moment; observing the classroom and its inhabitants._

_There were lots of kids. Girls were playing with each others hairs and giggling. Boys were telling stories. Patrick thought he heard someone say that they had gone to the moon on their holidays. The young boy felt jealous. He had never been to the moon..._

_Suddenly the teacher walked in. She had a bright smile and cheerful eyes. Patrick immediately took a liking to her._

_“Alright everyone! Welcome to school!” she chirped. “I know that this is a new experience for all of you; so, lets start off with some paired activities!”_

_Patrick felt his heart sink. He hadn't even made any friends yet... He watched in distain as everyone partnered with another. He felt tears brim at his eyes._

_“Hey!”_

_Patrick turned to the shout. A girl with pigtails and a polka dot dress stood behind him. She smiled at him._

_“Do you have a partner?” she asked. Patrick shook his head in reply. He somehow couldn't find it in him to talk to the girl._

_Her smile widened; brightening her face.“Me neither! Jess and me where meant to be partners... But she ditched me for Hilda. Do you wanna be my partner?”_

_Patrick felt his heart rise from its broken state. He felt the tears evaporate away leaving only a smile on his face. He nodded towards the girl._

_“Cool! My names Elisa! What's yours?” She took his hand and led him to the table where the teacher was setting up the group work._

_He felt blush rise to his cheeks. But he softly answered: “Patrick.”_

_Elisa grinned gently. “Nice to meet you Patrick,” she said. “Lets be friends!”_

_Patrick blinked at her. She wanted to be friends? But he just met her... Was she joking?_

_Elisa must've read his thoughts because she immediately answered: “Jess isn't going to be my friend anymore... But you seem really cool!”_

_Patrick felt himself grinning. With small confidence he replied: “You do too.”_

_Her smile widened; bringing a warm feeling to Patricks heart. It was his first day of school and he had already made a friend. He felt as though this friendship was a wonderful thing._

_He realised right there and then he would do anything to keep it._

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Patrick woke with a start as a door slammed open. Unfamiliar faces filled the van and came towards him. Out of sheer instinct and terror, Patrick started to flail; throwing punches and kicks towards the intruders. For a brief moment the people hesitated. Then they surged forward, easily grabbing Patrick despite his thrashing. He noticed the other slumped beings in the van be treated in the same manner.

Hands tugged Patricks arms behind his back and were restrained with what felt like handcuffs. His head was forcefully pushed into the flooring; making it difficult to breath. Terror leaped into his chest and panic seethed into his heart. No... No! No! Not now! Of all the places and times to have _another_ panic attack, it was definitely not now! Ocean! Think of the ocean! In come the waves... Out go the waves. Patrick struggled with the visual concept as he was pushed further into the floor. Panic started to seep deeper into his heart-creating the familiar feeling of his chest being constricted. His breaths grew short and he felt his body start to shake.

Nononononononono...notnownotnownononononotnowpleasegodnotnownot-

“Feisty, aren't they?”

“They won't be so feisty once they 'ave the Rounds.”

Patrick twisted his head awkwardly to find the conversationalists. He didn't recognise their voices as any of the previous abductors. He caught a glimpse of brown hair before his head was slammed into the floor again. He groaned at the burst of pain and white dots danced before his eyes. Nausea overcame him but his stomach had nothing to empty.

He dry heaved for an eternity before someone grabbed him by his shirt, lifting his face towards theirs. It was a male-though Patrick did not recognise him. Brown eyes; glasses and a small playful smirk danced on his handsome face. The male pulled Patrick in a seating position and revealed a small torch from his pocket and shining it Patrick's blue eyes. Patrick winced and closed his eyelids to hide from the light but the male just grabbed the rims of his eyes; forcefully preopening. He stared into Patrick's eye before swapping to his other. Seemingly satisfied, he moved to the right. Patrick looked and saw the tattooed male be seated like himself. Tattoo McGee was still unconscious and lolled like a ragdoll as the male removed the tape from his mouth and checked his eyes; exactly the same as Patrick.

He repeated this action with the other nameless captives and Pete-who were unconscious. He back away and gave a content nod to someone before stalking away behind white doors. Patrick took a moment to gather his wits and observe his surroundings. He took in his surroundings and compared them to the characteristics of a garage. Two large heavy roller doors were off to the far side of the walls. From his angle, Patrick counted three vans; all identical. The from was an off-shade yellow; a colour Patrick recognised as a healing bruise. He immediately felt distaste towards the choice of paint. The floor was clean, causing Patrick to feel suspicious but he didn't know why.

People he didn't recall surrounds him and the other males. He counted seven of them-four females and three males. They were whispering to each other and casting glances at him. There was something about their faces that Patrick couldn't identify. They seemed... Robotic? Stiff? Drained? It was as though they were wearing masks. There was no readable emotions to deduce from their faces. It sent shivers down his spine.

He looked at his fellow companions... And Pete-finding them still unconscious. He quietly whispered a “Hey?!” nudging the tattooed male beside him. Though he acted gently, the male slumped over. Patrick groaned quietly, agitation washing over terror. Why couldn't anything turn out right?! He nudged the male again and watched as he fell to his side. Patrick felt like slamming his head into the ground.

He went to nudge the male again before being abruptly yanked to his feet. He went to stand until a hot iron pressed into his foot and collapsed. He was dazed and confused for a moment before the pain reminded him of what transpired. He had been shot in the foot by Shane. Yes, yes it was all coming back now. The pain came back so intense that he forgot to breath for a few moments. How the Hell had he not noticed his wound before?!

Groaning, he felt someone lift him again. Another person was shouting commands but it mattered not to Patrick. He only heard pain. He only saw pain. He only felt pain. He was hoisted over someone shoulder, his legs resting over their chest. He glimpsed through his pain and saw the other slumped males being carried likewise. He allowed his head to flop down-it hurt his neck muscles to much and he definitely _did not_ need more pain. He wallowed in pain as the person carrying him took him down long white halls. It wasn't until his carrier made an abrupt turn did Patrick notice he was being taken away from the others.

He yelled weakly in protest but his captor too no notice. Patrick beat his uninjured foot feebly but to no avail. It scared him but he could not justify why. He couldn't justify anything with the fucking fire burning through his foot. Defeated from the pain, he went limp and accepted whatever was happening.

He never had the strongest self-will.

Little Patrick, always afraid to do anything. Even when he got angry he was afraid. Why? Because he was weak. That's why he was bullied. That's why he almost starved himself to an early grave. That's why he cut. Because that's what people like him get for being weak.

_In a world with survival; the weak must perish so the string may thrive._

Patrick heard a door open and was greeted by the smell of medicine and alcohol. He automatically wrinkled his nose in distaste before being set down on a hospital cot. His carrier looked at him for a moment before stalking to a side room. Looking around, the place gave an unappreciated nostalgia. It reminded Patrick of the nurses office at his school. A small hospital cot crammed in the corner with cabinets filled to the edge of medicine surrounding the walls. Drawers were piled in every free space; stacked in tip of each other or shoved against a wall. The room felt smaller than it should have with all the pieces of furniture decorating the walls and floor. The side room was next to the entrance, however the doors had closed behind his captor. Patrick could only guess what was happening behind them.

He thought about escaping but immediately shoved the idea away when his foot throbbed in a burning manner. It felt as though someone was twisting an iron hot rod into his foot and then shoving the limb into a fire. Despite the pain fogging his mind; a bitter memory of his cut floated across his mindscape. The first time he had done it had hurt. He recalled the memory and grasped onto it

__-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

_His hands shook as he held the razor. It shone dully in the bathroom lights. Tears streamed down his face freely now. He deserved this. It was his fault. His mother was crying because it was his fault._

_He never should have talked about his dad... But he felt so_ lonely _. Elisa tried helping him but he knew she was getting tired. He felt shame. That was his fault too. He was dragging her down with his stupid, selfish emotions. He though that maybe his mother would be okay with it. But when he started talking, she simply burst out crying. She said she was okay but he knew better. It was his fault. He made her sad. He made her cry. He made Elisa sad. He made everyone sad. His existence itself was a burden._

_Hisfaulthisfaulthisfaulthisfault..._

_He stripped away his jeans and laid the blade across his thigh. That's the best place to cut-the internet had said so. He made a quick mental note to clear his search history. He couldn't get caught. If he got caught then his mother might cry again... Elisa might become sadder. He would become a bigger burden. A big, fat, useless burden that made everyone unhappy and depressed. Without a second thought, Patrick dragged the blade across his thigh. It hurt like hellfire; blood blossoming from the cut. It beaded upon his pale skin before spilling and becoming rivers of red. Patrick felt mesmerized and thought it looked poetic._

_These were his tears. He was cutting them out of his body._

_And suddenly there was another cut. It hurt, oh it hurt so bad. But now his blood was streaking like his tears. It was beautiful. Aside from the pain of course. The pain is what made the action hurt. But the blood falling away, oh that was just beautiful._

_Patrick imagined the blood as his feeling and watched as they fell away from his skin and onto the tiled floor. The deeper the cut, the less emotions he felt. He was getting rid of these emotions without anyone's help. Yes, he was crying because it hurt so_ bad _. But that was okay because it was his punishment. The worse the pain; the more he bled; the less of a burden he felt. By the time he was done there were four streaks of red across his left thigh. He though of cutting the other but started to feel light headed. He reluctantly cleaned and hid the razor, while doing the same to his wounds-_

_No. Not wounds. They weren't wounds... They were a coping mechanism. His coping mechanism._

_He cleaned the bathroom and found himself looking in the mirror afterwards. He felt disgusted towards himself. Was he really that fat and ugly? He looked at every direction and decided that he needed to change that._

_This was only the first of the dangerous habits he inflict on himself._

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The memory brought him no joy, but it did take him away from the pain. He shook his head. At the time, cutting seemed like the greatest idea. Now he looked back on it and felt stupid. He still had the scars. Then there was _that night_. Oh God... That was the worst moment of his life... Well, aside from being kidnapped. He shuddered to think of what would've happened if Elisa hadn't found him.

The door from the side room opened; causing Patrick to quickly discard his thoughts. His carrier and the man from before stepped out-a smirk playing on the face of the familiar. He directed it at Patrick, making the small male feel queasy. The man gave his captor a swift nod; an obvious dismissal. The carrier left without a word leaving only Patrick and the male in the room.

The male stared at Patrick, causing the latter to fidget under the impending gaze. The brown eyes were unforgiving; studying Patrick. The small male felt strangely violated and flinched as the man came forward. He went to raise a hand only to feel the cuffs cut into his wrists. He was vulnerable to anything the man wanted to do.

“You're so... Pretty,” the male cooed, coming closer. “You look so pretty...” he gave a sly smirk, “but you're gone so soon.”

Dread mingled with pain and discomfort. Patrick wanted nothing more than to hide from this male. The male's smile promised nothing but hurt and his eyes had a murderous gleam. His voice was soft but sharp. It made Patrick think of a knife being hidden within a cushion. The male came closer and grabbed Patricks' cheek with brutal force. The strawberry-blonde flinched but the man just held on all the tighter.

“Oh, you're so, so pretty... Your eyes are wonderful...” another sly smirk, “A shame that such beauty has to go to waste.”

He let his hand drop and watched as Patrick tried to desperately gather his wits. He was not having a fucking panic attack. Not here, not now. He controlled his breathing and glared at the male-hoping his resent shone through. The male just smiled and gave a coy giggle, crouching towards Patricks legs.

It was out of instinct that he immediately tried kicking the man. Unfortunately, the male must've been suspecting such an act for he dodged the attempt and quickly subdued Patrick. The man was tall-much taller than Patrick-and easily pushed the small male into the cot, one hand pushing down his chest and the other on his injured leg. Terrified; Patrick tried bucking the man away, his cuffs digging uncomfortably into his lower back. The male had the advantage however and used his leg to press against Patricks hips. The man was grinning now; a wild and feral grin over took half of his face, his eyes shining with a dangerous gleam. If Patrick though he was vulnerable before-he was practically a hooked fish now. He watched as the male used his index finger and traced it down his chest. Never before had Patrick felt so... _Dirty_. It was as though the male was contaminated and he was slowly giving the infectious disease to him.

He wriggled under the influence of the male, but stopped when the man rearranged his leg. Oh... Oh god. No... Nonononononono... He was _not_ pressing there. Nope. Nonononono.

“Oh? What's this? I haven't even done anything yet...” the man smirked. Patrick felt like he was going to die. He tried controlling himself but the pain; the situation; _the fucking knee pressing into his crotch_... It all made for flimsy thoughts that he could not grasp.

Then the male fucking _shifted_ his knee. He moved it back and forth slowly, watching Patrick as the small male tried contain a groan that wanted to break free of his lips. This was not fucking happening. No, he was not about to be fucking grinded on by a fucking creep. Patrick felt the panic attack creeping into his chest. No, not fucking now. NOT FUCKING NOW. Patrick tried squirming away but the male just grinded into his crotch harder. He was giggling now. The fucker was giggling. Patrick didn't know what was worse: the fact that he was getting molested, or that he was having a panic attack or maybe that he was getting molested _and_ having a godamn panic attack.

He felt his lungs start to constrict-as though someone was squeezing away the last of his air. His heart was beating faster than ever before; thumping violently against his ribcage. The pain in his foot seemed to have increased from before and his fucking _crotch_... He closed his eyes and prayed for anything-GodSatanangeldemonidontcarejustsomeoneleasesavemepleaseimsorrypleasejustsaveme-

“William!”

A female voice echoed through the room. The grinding immediately stopped and Patrick let out a whoosh of air he hadn't realized he'd been keeping. He opened his eyes and saw a displeased female glaring at... William?

William pouted and groaned as he lifted himself off of Patrick. He glanced back coyly, giving a small wink before the female shoved him out of the entrance. She turned to Patrick with an apologetic look but it quickly flickered to annoyance and disgust. She went forward and helped Patrick sit, catching him as he almost fell forward. He thought she muttered an apology but wasn't sure as the pounding in his ears increased. He felt his face grow hot and flushed before he started to tremble. There was a curse before some scuffling and a bucket was quickly supplied before him just as he vomited for real this time.

His tongue felt thick and his head pounded in rhythm with his ears once he was done. The female scrunched her nose up and disposed if the bucket before turning back to Patrick. He looked at her grateful but all he received was a disinterested glance. He felt his heart sink. She had seemed so kind... What if she was worse?! What if she actually tried to do something worse like-

Patrick hissed as he felt his shoe come off.  It brushed upon his wound, causing the injury to flame in a burning sensation. The female offered another apology and quickly removed his sock. He hissed again but took notice to how gentle she was trying to be. He felt himself relax. She was not at all like William. He opened his mouth to talk, then quickly shut it. What would he say? What could he say... Maybe she could tell him where he was? Why he had been kidnapped? What was the deal with William?

“I'm not your friend,” she spoke dully, inspecting his foot. “I only saved you because I don't want stains on the sheets.” She stood and walked to a cupboard-not noticing Patrick's disappointment. He couldn't help it. He really thought there may have been hope for him. Apparently not.

He refused to look at her and she cleaned and dressed his wound in silence. His foot wasn't the only thing to have been shot. His hope felt riddled with a thousand bullets. Then again, Patrick supposed that's what he deserved for wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Despite the females harsh tones and her crude behaviour; her hands were gentle as she wrapped a clean linen bandage around the wound. Patrick watched her while she began wrapping medical tape; taking in her focused expression.

“Its rude to stare,” she muttered, placing a final strip of tape around his foot.

Blushing, Patrick looked away. “I-I... I'm sorry.”

He heard the woman sigh and risked looking towards her. Her expression seemed sad; a pitiful light gleaming in her eyes. She shook her head and reached for him, gently easing his feet to the floor. Wincing, Patrick curled his left foot onto his toes and limped to the door. He fell once and almost crashed to the floor before the woman steadied his balance. Patrick felt grateful -as he had no way of stopping his fall. The woman leaned Patrick against the entrance door and disappeared into the small room. He contemplated on escaping then tossed away the idea. He was in no condition to escape. The people in this place would catch him easily. There was no hope. He vaguely wondered what happened to Pete and the other two captives. Perhaps they had woken? Most likely... Maybe. Where there others here? If so... How many?

His contemplation was interrupted as the entrance door pushed open, sending Patrick sprawling to the floor. Unable to stop himself, he quickly twisted his head as to spare his nose. He hit the ground with a sickening thus, groaning as pain blossomed into his cheeks. Two hands gripped his waist and lifted to him to his feet. Another henchmen. But different to his other carrier before. This one was a female. The lady hoisted Patrick over her shoulder, the same style as the previous carrier. Humiliation resided within his stomach but he voiced nothing.

Patrick tensed when he saw the female return. Her eyes were still sad, but when she spoke her voice was flat. “Room two-three-four. He is not to be subjected to any rounds.”

His carrier nodded and started walking away, but not before Patrick caught the females final words.

“He won't last...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's ma tumblr. So far I have posted shit tones of BBC Sherlock theories.  
> This is important. Anything about this story will be informed on my tumblr. If its delayed; new chapters and sneak peaks will all be posted upon it. I will also ask for some prompts to write when I'm not working on BRUM. That's right,my story's acronym is BRUM. I have no regrets.  
> Here ya gooo: https://ionlysleepwiththebest.tumblr.com/  
> Any how, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> No refunds for broken hearts


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